


day by day

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa chooses Shiratorizawa, and Ushijima helps eclipse his regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	day by day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [augusta_brie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/augusta_brie/gifts).



> sorry iwa-chan ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> hey augusta_brie! i was so intrigued by your iwaoi prompt, i just had to write a treat for it. it didn't end up being quite as psychological or dark as i originally imagined, but im glad with the final result, and i hope you enjoy it, too!

He opens his Seijou acceptance letter with his best friend at his side, a spring breeze tousling their hair as they eat lunch together on the roof. Oikawa thinks he hasn't seen Iwaizumi grin this big since elementary school, and it might be true—puberty had shoved some kind of stick up his ass, all right. It blinds him to Oikawa’s milder reaction, a practiced smile accompanied by a weak laugh. He tells him that they'll be able to go to high school together, and his naiveté makes Oikawa’s heart sink for him, a stone tumbling down into the ocean after being pitched from the shore.

But as he thinks of the envelope sitting on his kitchen table, torn open with trembling fingers, the purple emblem dousing gasoline on his flicker of resolve, the water is strikingly clear.

\---

On the first day of practice at Shiratorizawa, he runs so hard he nearly vomits on the grass outside the gymnasium.

On the fifth day, a broad hand helps him up after he crashes to the floor during a suicide drill, warm and firm and solidifying him again.

“Thanks,” he breathes as he’s returned to his feet, and the boy gives him a nod. He has olive eyes, with thick eyebrows that make him look mildly disgruntled by default. But even though his face is red with exertion, there's still a kind of serenity in his features, and a familiarity, too, though Oikawa can't quite place it.

“God, I looked so stupid for falling earlier,” he later laughs, encountering the boy again, this time as the rookies clean up the gym after practice. “Thanks again for that. It's...Ushiwaka, right?”

“Ushijima,” he corrects. “And you're Oikawa Tooru.” Oikawa frowns.

“I'm sorry, have we met before?” Something like a smile twitches at the corner of Ushijima’s lip, a crack in his stoic exterior.

“Other than practicing together for the past two weeks? We played against each in middle school, more than once.”

“ _Oh_ , right. So that's why you looked familiar. Well, there are a lot of new faces here, too—it's hard to keep track of them all, y’know?” Ushijima nods.

“I know the feeling. Though there's something that feels...different about you, somehow.” Oikawa frowns, tilting his head.

“Different how?” Ushijima is quiet for a moment.

“...You don't seem to be playing as well as you did before.”

“Really?” Oikawa’s laugh is sharp as he raises his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose I wasn't conditioning as hard as I should have in the offseason. Kitagawa Daiichi was good, but Shiratorizawa really is a different caliber.” Ushijima’s lips part as if to say something, but he refrains, mouth pressing into a firm line. Oikawa narrows his eyes.

“Don't think you _know_ me,” he sneers, giving Ushijima a small shove. But the boy doesn't even stumble—he simply takes a step back as if it were staged, holding eye contact all the way through.

It makes Oikawa want to scream.

He's better than that, though, and settles on heading back to his locker. But his fingers keep fumbling through his combination, and he can't help but shiver. The dark-haired boys here are never the boy he expects them to be, and he starts to wonder why pursuing freedom makes it feel like he's forgetting how to breathe.

***

Ushijima pisses Oikawa off in that he does it absolutely without intention. He excels when Oikawa falters, and yet he still has the balls to give him _friendly_ advice, albeit in his own detached way. It's almost as if he doesn't even sense the animosity that Oikawa’s been directing towards him.

But Oikawa knows he's smarter than that, and the idea of him ignoring his emotions pisses him off even more.

“ _Why_ ,” he breathes, exasperated, his fingers knotted into Ushijima’s damp t-shirt, “Why do you keep acting like this?” Ushijima blinks, almost disinterested as he stares past Oikawa.

“Volleyball is a team sport,” he answers, patiently waiting until Oikawa releases him, shoulders trembling. Of course it is. He knows that. 

He just can't figure out how the idea of playing with Ushijima makes him feel.

***

The best Oikawa gets is being rotated in for a round in a practice match—the competition here is too fierce for him to be able to start as a first year. He still tries to milk it for what it's worth, and the shock of his successful jump serve soundly demoralizes the other team. But he lands funny, and he struggles to hide his limp the next day, gritting his teeth when his coach barks at him to jog faster.

“You're only going to aggravate your injury if you keep trying to run on it.” Oikawa makes a face into the depth of his locker, wincing as he sets his foot down flat on the floor. He'd been favoring the other one instinctively, but of course Ushijima notices.

“Shut up.” It's a laughably weak protest—it was hard enough feeling vulnerable next to Ushijima before, but with an injury, he feels himself splintering.

“It’s just a small sprain,” he insists, a little louder. “I'll be fine.” Now he really wants to laugh—he can barely believe his own words. Ushijima is quiet for a moment, then finally lets out a small sigh.

“Let me wrap your ankle for you.” Oikawa blinks, turning around to look at him 

“What?”

“I'm not going to let you injure yourself just to spite me. Let me wrap it.” There's a faint weariness in his voice, but it's also stubborn—Oikawa won't be able to stomp out of the locker room this time, physically, or emotionally. He purses his lips for a moment, then finally sits down on the bench, propping his foot up with lukewarm effort. Ushijima pulls a roll of bandages out of his locker—the kind that say they can be washed and reused, but they never stick quite right after—and straddles the bench, taking Oikawa’s foot into his hands. His palms are rough, yet warm, and the slide of his thumb over his arch makes Oikawa jerk back reflexively.

“Sorry.” Ushijima barely masks his amusement, and Oikawa feels his cheeks heat.

“Whatever,” he huffs, “Just be quick with it.” He's pissed over how much this delights Ushijima, how seeing him smile makes his chest feel tight.

“Only if you promise to ice this when you get home.”

“God, I have been! I'm not an idiot.”

“I don't doubt that,” muses Ushijima, beginning to wrap his ankle. “It's just that you're so stubborn, Oikawa. You don't listen to my advice, and you barely listen to others.”

“That's because I don't _ask_ for it, Ushiwaka-chan. I don't see the point in making the effort to remember things that I don't need.” Ushijima’s eyes widen then, and he lunges forward, grabbing Oikawa’s shirt and jerking him close.

“Let me be clear, Oikawa. I don't give a fuck about whether you ask for it or not. If someone tries to help you, you should have the decency to at least listen. I know you want to be captain someday—your pride is evidence enough of that. But if all you do is put yourself before others, it will _never_ be in reach.” Oikawa stares at Ushijima with widened eyes, letting out a breath when he finally drops away. He bites his lip, brow wrinkling.

“...It's not like I'm trying to hurt myself on purpose, you know.” Ushijima glances up, raising an eyebrow to inquire about his motivations.

“I just need to get better faster,” admits Oikawa. “I don’t want to get left behind. I don't want to lose to you.” Ushijima takes his time wrapping his ankle in silence before finally looking him in the eye.

“I don’t know what I did to give the impression, but this,” he says, gesturing at the space between them, “Whatever you think this is, trust me, it doesn't exist. My goal is not to defeat you. It's to win—alongside Shiratorizawa.” Oikawa laughs sharply.

“You would say that—you have the luxury to, after all. You have talent, while I, well, I have—”

“You have your own two hands and the ability to make something out of yourself,” interrupts Ushijima firmly. “You just don't want to put in the effort.”

“No,” insists Oikawa, his voice shaking. “That's not it.”

“Then you're scared of failure.” Oikawa blanches, and his fingers curl into trembling fists.

“I'm—I'm—”

“If that's the case,” sighs Ushijima, getting up from his seat, “Let me help you overcome it.” He extends his hand, meeting Oikawa’s eyes again.

“I can rebuild you. No,” he says, correcting himself quietly. “I will.” Oikawa lets out a breath, the crease in his brow fading the longer he stares at Ushijima’s hand.

“...What do I need to do?”

“All you need to do,” smiles Ushijima, “is trust me.” Oikawa looks into his face, then, back at his hand.

He reaches out…

…and he takes it.

***

Oikawa pushes on Ushijima’s back before the start of practice, and tries not to laugh when he gets a soft grunt in return. Ushijima’s muscles cord under his palms, lengthening again when he pulls up from his stretch, and Oikawa’s hands stay on him for a second longer than they should.

“You're pretty big, you know,” he notes, sitting down to touch his toes. “At least for a volleyball player. Most don't have backs as broad as yours. Or even thighs as impressive, to be honest.”

“I played water polo in middle school.” Ushijima’s palms press into Oikawa’s back, making him groan.”

“And that was what, a hobby?”

“More or less.” He hums a soft laugh. “It might be hard to imagine, but I do like having fun.”

***

The glass of the locker room mirror is flecked with odd specks of soap and water—someone on the team washes their hands a little too vigorously, and they've yet to figure out who. But Oikawa manages to stare past the grime, carefully tucking the crisp white of his jersey into the waistband. The purple of his shorts is vibrant, reminiscent of the orchids his mother sometimes nurtures in the summer. Ushijima stands against the wall a few feet behind him, arms crossed.

“That color looks good on you,” he says after a moment, coming up from behind. Oikawa meets his eyes in the mirror, and smirks shamelessly.

“Of course it does, Ushiwaka-chan. But it's not only that.” He leans back against Ushijima’s chest, watching as his hands take hold of his waist.

“It feels good. It feels _right_.” Ushijima’s fingertips press gently into his skin, and Oikawa’s eyelashes flutter to a close as the taller boy leans in, his lips warm and wet against his neck. Slowly, Oikawa turns, and he takes Ushijima’s face in his hands to kiss him back.

***

“Oikawa?”

Oikawa plucks an earbud from his ear, his team walking on ahead of him as he glances around the outside of the arena. His eyes finally settle on a spiky head of hair, and his shoulders rise with a shallow breath.

“Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, brow furrowing at the familiar nickname.

“Don't call me that,” he spits, shoving his hands into the pockets of his white and blue track jacket. “You haven't answered my texts in weeks.”

“That's...c’mon, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa laughs sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head, “High school is pretty busy, and we've been practicing for the Inter High, so…”

“Bullshit.” Iwaizumi goes quiet, chin dipping into his collar. “I know you have free time.” Oikawa frowns for a second, confused, but then he drops the facade, mouth drawing into a thin line. He rolls his neck slowly, but refrains from rolling his eyes as well, holding onto a shred of politeness. 

“Alright, I’ll indulge you. I’m sure you’re looking for an explanation, after all.” Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, and he expels a harsh breath through his nose. Oikawa bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“I thought you liked playing volleyball with me. I thought we were friends.” Oikawa lets the corner of his mouth turn up then, just a little bit.

“Hm. Well, it was fun, I can’t deny that.”

“But?”

“In the end…I decided to take a different path.” Iwaizumi, his face still dark, takes a step forward.

“Y’know what? I could’ve respected that, Oikawa. I could’ve, if you had done it with some goddamn tact! I mean, who abandons their childhood friend without a word? Who does that?” Oikawa is quiet for a moment, then gives Iwaizumi a disinterested shrug.

“Me, I guess? I don’t really know what to say. Sorry.” Iwaizumi sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring, and he grabs the front of Oikawa’s jacket.

“Is that really all? Are you really going to expect me to believe that?” Oikawa is silent, glancing away. 

“The night before graduation, you said we could try. In high school, we could try being something...something more.” Iwaizumi’s shoulders tremble, and he lifts his head, a stray tear rolling down his cheek.

“Was that just a lie? Did...did I ever mean anything to you?” Oikawa blinks as he feels Iwaizumi’s grip on him slacken.

“Whoa, hey. That’s a little harsh, Iwa-chan. I—”

“Oikawa.” Oikawa turns around, Iwaizumi’s hands falling limply away from him.

“Oh, Ushiwaka-chan. What’s up?” Ushijima glances briefly at the dark-haired boy behind Oikawa, then looks back to his teammate.

“The captain and coaches want to have a talk with everyone before we start warming up.”

“Gotcha. Be there in a sec!” Oikawa gives him a wink, then looks back at Iwaizumi, expression softening.

“Look, Iwa-chan, I’m sorry—”

“Shut up.” His voice is thin, fingers balled up into fists. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Oikawa inhales, lips moving to say something. But then, he exhales, and turns on his heel.

He walks back to the court alongside Ushijima in silence, squaring his shoulders, head held high. But then he stops in the doorway of the gym, spotting his team already practicing receives.

“They started without us.” Ushijima keeps walking, tossing a look at him he passes by, and suddenly, it clicks. Oikawa laughs, shaking his head.

“Oh, Ushiwaka-chan, you’re so mean.”


End file.
